It took about a year, but I finally got used to Holden bringing home things he’d worked on in school, but couldn’t explain to me. How do you NOT know what you drew? YOU drew it! Why am I asking this question when I can’t even remember what I had for lunch yesterday? Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess.
The kid is 6. Handwriting isn’t exactly what anyone would consider beautiful at that age, so sometimes not even he could read what he’d written.
Since Holden started school last September, he’s brought home all KINDS of weird shit. yarn necklaces with beads in a pattern… or what was supposed to be a pattern, I guess. Caterpillars made out of links of different colored construction paper. Lots of things cut out. Lots of random foodstuffs pasted. Lots of crayon scribbles.
One of the things they discuss often in the school Holden attends is bullying. Why it’s wrong, what you should do if you are bullied, if you see someone else being bullied, what you should do INSTEAD of bullying. It’s pretty frickin’ awesome, considering that I have heard of SO many bullying scenarios in schools that don’t seem to give a shit. I may not be able to read ALL of the worksheets he brings home about bullying, but it seems like he has the right idea… I think.
While things have come home on every day of the week, USUALLY classwork and things that need to be returned come on Thursdays in a blue folder. It’s pretty nice to know when to expect to get an influx of paper that you might have a hard time parting with because AW THEY WORKED SO HARD ON THIS I WANT TO SAVE IT BUT I ALREADY HAVE A BILLION OTHER PIECES OF PAPER THEY WORKED SO HARD ON AND DEAR GOD I’M BECOMING A HOARDER PLEASE SAVE ME!
Ahem… anyway… it’s not all that surprising when a worksheet that Holden completed in class came home on a Monday that I didn’t see it. I didn’t even think to look for it! THURSDAY FOLDER, DAMNIT! It wasn’t until right before dinner that evening as Thomas was clearing the table that I learned of its existence.
“What’s this?” he asked, holding the piece of paper in his hand. I always look at EVERYTHING Holden brings home, because
I’m a helicopter mom I like to keep up with how he’s doing in school, so I quickly walked over to the table, and Thomas handed it to me.
It appeared, to me, to be a dinosaur of some sort. Holden’s obsessed with dinosaurs. He will draw a car, and make it into a dinosaur. DINOSAUR ALL THE THINGS! Even his friggin’ PRINCIPAL talks about how much Holden talks about dinosaurs. Seriously. It’s a lot. Like… he might need an intervention, THAT is how much he draws and talks about dinosaurs.
At the top, the sheet read “When people say, ‘That really bugs me,’ they are saying ‘That really annoys me,’ or ‘That really makes me angry.’ Here’s a whole page for you to draw in things that really ‘bug’ you. Circle the things or situations that you can make better.”
Simple enough, right? The kid is the master of talking about things that bug him. It’s pretty much everything. He’s going through a dramatic stage.
This ‘dinosaur’ had word bubbles. “A talking dinosaur, cool!” I thought to myself. And then I read them aloud. Holden started to laugh. Nothing unusual there, he always finds himself hilarious. Then I noticed a large written caption at the bottom in Holden’s lovely (read: terrible) handwriting. I read that aloud too. Holden started laughing more. I couldn’t make sense of it, so I read it aloud again, and by this time Holden is laughing so hard his face is BRIGHT red, which causes me to start laughing, too… but I’m still confused. I have NO idea why this is so funny, but I’m laughing, and I ask him what this means by reading it a few more times aloud, and the kid is laughing so fucking hard that he can’t answer so it must mean something GOOD, and then…it hit me. Like a sack of bricks.
First of all, I’m impressed that he can spell evil.
Secondly: BIG FAT MOMMY
THE PICTURE IS ME!
The thing that really BUGS him, annoys him, and makes him angry is his BIG FAT MOMMY. Who laughs at how evil she is and looks like a frickin’ dinosaur. With a unibrow. And horns.
That turd-sniffer just stood there and laughed, insisting that it wasn’t a drawing of me, but MEME, yet he couldn’t keep a straight face as he said it. Filthy liar. Guilt was all over that little red face.
I think he wrote “meme” because it was as close as he could get to “mommy” without actually writing it, and therefore, narrowly keeping him out of trouble since I could never PROVE that he actually meant “mommy”. Diabolical, sneaky little shit. I’m surprised I didn’t get a note home from his teacher about this, but it’s possible she fears my wrath, since I’m apparently a unibrowed dinosaur and all.
The worst part? I couldn’t even manage to be mad at him because he had me laughing so hard at him laughing. Brat.
This big fat meme needs a drink.
Every. Single. Time. pic.twitter.com/aAAWWjdrN3
I'm either "I HAVE 3 FRIES LEFT DON'T TOUCH MY PLATE!" or "Please take this so I can't eat any more of it!" There is no in-between.
Dear people writing articles on ways to get siblings to get along, I'll save you the time. The answer is "Don't let them play together"
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.